


The Revelation

by dismiss_your_fearsx



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Book Spoilers, F/M, Missing Scene, s4 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 16:45:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11971479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismiss_your_fearsx/pseuds/dismiss_your_fearsx
Summary: The conversation we never got to see in The Angry Tide and that I dearly hope will be included in Season 4. Complies with Season 3 timeline/events. **Major spoilers**





	The Revelation

**Author's Note:**

> This is the saddest thing I will probably ever write, I hope I've done it justice. I would love to know your thoughts. xo

"Talk to me," Caroline gently implores her husband, whom she has found in his study, head in hands, crying. She places a hand soothingly on his shoulder.

He lifts his head to look at her and Caroline's heart lurches. The whites of his eyes have been replaced by a burning red, and yet they shone, as though they bore all the sorrow in the world. "Caroline, I'm so sorry," he croaks.

She makes an effort to keep the lightness in her voice. "For what? Come, my love, it's alright," she cooes, smoothing his hair.

Dwight quickly rises from his chair, shaking his head manically back and forth as he paces around the small study. "No," he breathes shakily. "No. You don't understand. It's not alright. Nothing is alright. Nothing can ever be alright." He roughly snatches the fallen tears from his face.

Her chest tightens in fear. She has never seen him in such a state; he is positively hysterical. What could possibly be distressing him so much? "What do you mean?" she asks quietly, not entirely sure she wants to know.

He turns away from her and gazes stormily out of the window. He could not look at her. He took several breaths to steady his voice. It was time she knew. "Sarah is-"

"Sarah? What about Sarah? She has a cold," she states defensively, perplexed by the doctor's hysteria over a common cold. Perhaps it was different when it was one's family or friends who were ill.

Dwight bites his lower lip to keep it from trembling and turns to face his wife, whom he loved so dearly- yet he could not quite shake the vile feeling of having deceived her. "Yes...," he begins slowly. "But that is not all." He notes that the air circulation throughout her body has paused at this revelation. "Sar-" he tries, pausing- her sweet, innocent name catching in his throat as if it cannot be spoken of in any ill context. "She has-" he swallows hard. "Her heart." He simply shakes his head slowly, finally allowing the tears to flow mercilessly down his face. He stares desperately at his wife- hoping she will understand his meaning so that he won't have to explicitly state it. She will have to; he cannot say it.

On the other side of the oak door, a footman jumps, startled. The pitiful, heartbroken, shriek that escapes Caroline Enys's lips will come to haunt all those whose ears it has descended upon until their dying breath.

She stands there, trembling, examining her devastated husband's face and for the first time notices the greying of his temples. "How long have you known?" she demands in a low voice.

He hesitates. "A while," he finally admits quietly. The guilt rises like bile in his throat. He should have told her long before now, she should have had time to prepare herself- though, Dwight notes, the forewarning was no comfort; if anything it made the situation all the more agonising. He lifts his shameful gaze to meet the brilliance of his wife's eyes- clouded with tears, grief, confusion, anger. He winces as he prepares himself for her wrath, which he thoroughly deserves.

She takes several paces towards him, seriously considers hitting every inch of his body, and finally collapses limply to the ground. He catches her shoulders and kneels on the ground with her. He holds her tightly and she does not resist him, instead, clings to his shoulders as if for her own life. Having exhausted herself - certain that it was no longer possible for her to shed another single tear for the remainder of her life - she places a shaking hand on her husband's cheek and wills him to look at her.  
"How- how long does she have?" she chokes hoarsely, her lungs burn as she desperately attempts to regaining her breath.

Kindness was not an option now, only honesty. "A day, perhaps two," he whispers, voice quaking, as he hugs her tightly. He bites his trembling lip until it draws blood and swallows hard, continuing to suppress the knot of unreleased sobs in his chest that threatens to burst him open. He must be strong for Caroline.  
"Perhaps we should bring her downstairs to the parlour?" he suggests, the words managing to squeeze by the painful lump in his throat.  
She nods mutely against his shoulder. The parlour was Sarah's favourite room, it made sense to do so; at this present moment, it was the only thing in the whole world that made any sense at all.  
"I shall get her, then, and bring her downstairs." Again she nods mutely. "Would you like to bring her down together?"

Caroline licks her dry lips and clears her raw throat, willing her voice to return to her. "Yes, but I- my legs- I fear cannot move."

Dwight stands and gently takes her hands, pulling her up. Her legs wobble and she grips his shoulders to steady herself. She sniffs ferociously, wipes her stinging face and shakily lifts her chin up, determined to proceed with the most amount of dignity possible. Caroline Enys might have achieved this, had her husband not scooped her up and carried her trembling body through their house - just as he had done the day their marriage was announced - causing her to bury her face in his chest once more.

* * *

 Sarah's crib was placed beside the fireplace, she had always enjoyed the bright flickers of the flames- her weak little hands reaching out to catch them. Caroline had decorated the room with so many flowers it might have been Heaven itself. She diligently wipes her daughter's feverish face with a wet cloth, as though a mother's love would cure her.  
Dwight watches on solemnly, feeling he should remind her that there was nothing to be done. Instead, he sits down on the hard, wooden floor beside her. He peers into the white crib to examine its occupant. The crib is vastly decorated with lace, frills, flowers, love - fit to hold its own in the garden of angels. He covers his wife's shaking hand with his and together they dab their beloved daughter's brow.  
He offers his index finger to his baby girl, which she grabs with all the strength she can muster, a small, delighted squeal escaping from her mouth. Were it not for the hoards of people who relied solely upon Dr. Dwight Enys for medical care, he would gladly bury himself beside her.


End file.
